Jesse breathed out the lump of tightness in his chest. “I don’t blame you, you know. You couldn’t have known.”
“I blame myself anyway.” Dad kissed his forehead and held him for a long moment. “You’re my flesh and blood. You’re important, son. You need to remember that. Lots of people love you. Like your mom and me. Kelly. And your team at the station. And...”
Dad glanced over his shoulder, at the light streaming through the kitchen window. Jesse knew Dom was in there somewhere, helping Mom roll out some dough.
“If he loved me, he would’ve said something,” Jesse muttered, his heart squeezing.
“Maybe.” Dad looked up at the sky. “Sometimes love comes through in the quietest of ways. It’s not always the big declarations like it is in the movies.”
They sat on the back porch until darkness fell, and moths came up to flutter around the porch light. Then they headed into the house, where the aroma of blueberry pie had filled the air.
Dom was stamping out some dough hearts with a plastic cookie cutter. Mom was mixing some sugar with cinnamon powder. The moment Jesse and Dad stepped into the kitchen, Dom looked up, his gaze locking onto Jesse. Jesse’s heart stumbled and crashed.
“We should head back soon,” Jesse said, trying to find his breath. “I still have to pick up my bike from the park.”
“Some clothes, too.” Dom sent him a meaningful look—Jesse was sleeping over at his place tonight.
And now there were butterflies in Jesse’s stomach. Dad’s words couldn’t be true, could they?
Mom made them wait until the pie was done, before packing some into a box for them to bring along. Then they bade Jesse’s parents goodbye and set off for home.
An hour’s drive later, they pulled into the park where the barbecue party had been. Shadows had swallowed the lake; orange lamplight faintly illuminated the pavilion. It was far too quiet.
Dom pulled up next to Jesse’s bike and parked. Jesse hopped out, his skin prickling. Maybe it was just the chilly night air.
He unlocked his bike trunk, riffling through its contents. Everything was still there. So he pulled out his gloves and helmet, expecting to pull them on.
Except there was the faintest, most awful scent of bitterwood in his helmet.
Jesse’s stomach plummeted.
He remembered a dark cell, he remembered being blindfolded, and the scorching lashes of a whip splitting his back open. He remembered the glint of scalpels before things slid under his skin. He remembered a cruel smile, he remembered the red-hot agony of a cattle rod stabbing into his neck. And accompanying all the pain was bitterwood, everywhere, every time the door slammed open.
Larson had found him.
Jesse swallowed hard, trying to breathe. He scrutinized every shadow, every tree and shrub around them. But there was only silence.
Dom rolled down the passenger-side window. “Something wrong?”
Jesse tightened his fist around the gloves. “No.”
If he said yes, then Dom would stay. And Dom was no match for Larson. Even with Jesse by his side. Larson was always several steps ahead of Jesse, he was always armed, always prepared to take Jesse down. Whatever the cost.
Jesse could deal with it. But Dom—Jesse could not risk his safety. No matter how capable Dom was.
“Sinclair.”
“I’m fine.”
His heart pounding, Jesse yanked on his helmet, his entire scalp prickling at the scent. Larson had been through his things. Maybe he’d known Jesse would return for the bike. And maybe he was already at Jesse’s apartment, waiting.
Jesse couldn’t go home with Dom tonight. Not until he’d made sure Larson was well and truly dead.
Dom left his truck, stalking over with narrowed eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
Jesse swung his leg over the bike. “I’ll meet you at the house.”
“Sinclair.” Dom grabbed his arm, forcibly turning Jesse’s helmet so their gazes locked. “What’s wrong?”
Worry flashed through Dom’s eyes. Maybe wariness. And Jesse knew he needed to get Dom off his tail, as quick as he could. “I’m leaving.”
Dom scowled. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
Dom yanked Jesse’s helmet off. “What do you mean by ‘no’?”
“It means I’m just gonna drop by the apartment,” Jesse snapped. “I’ll get my things, and I’ll join you.”
For a moment, Dom studied him. Jesse thought Dom would finally let him go.
Instead, Dom leaned in and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue into Jesse’s mouth. He tasted like roast beef and chai tea, and his was a warm, possessive touch. “I don’t believe you for a second, Sinclair,” Dom whispered.
“Then don’t,” Jesse growled. “I don’t need you to believe me.”
Dom’s eyes flashed. “Just fucking tell me what’s wrong.”
“Why?” Jesse snatched his helmet back. “I don’t belong to you.”
“I’m your alpha.”
“Like hell you are.” Jesse tugged his helmet back on. “I just asked you to bite me. Not to bite me there.”
Dom growled, grabbing Jesse’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”
Jesse yanked his arm back. “No.”
“That’s an order, Jesse.”
Like hell he could pull that deputy card out here. Jesse flipped him off. The longer he stayed, the longer he spent with Dom, the more danger Dom was in. Dom had no fucking clue how low Larson would sink.
Larson could very well kill Dom, and Dom wouldn’t even know until it was too late.
“It shouldn’t matter this much to you,” Jesse hissed. “My head’s fucked up. I’m just some guy you happened to sleep with. You—You don’t even love me, anyway.”
He hadn’t meant to let that slip. But he’d been thinking about it the whole way home, wondering what it’d feel like if Dom loved him. Then he’d tried to convince himself that it was just a fantasy. And maybe he just wanted proof, once and for all. So he didn’t have to torment himself wondering what this thing was between them.
Dom froze, his throat working. And, for the longest moment, he didn’t answer.
Dom didn’t love him, then. Jesse’s heart cracked. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. He shoved his key
